


A World For Two

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Attack, Animal Death, Blood and Injury, Breeding Kink, Cabin Fic, Happy Ending, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Impregnation, M/M, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Protective Hank Anderson, Rescue, Rough Sex, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Male Pregnancy, Woodcutter Hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21731983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Connor Stern survives the destruction of his remote village by Earl Kamski's forces. He goes to enlist the help of the woodcutter, a former knight who lives on a mountain overlooking the village, in getting a message to the King. Chased by wolves and freezing to death on the snowy slopes, Connor is rescued by Hank Anderson, the woodcutter in question.Recovering from his wounds in Hank's cabin, Connor develops an attachment to the older man, but Hank has a painful past and drinks too much, preferring to isolate himself from society. Connor doesn't know if the old man sees him as a son or as something more, but he knows the prospect of leaving Hank and journeying to the capital alone is becoming less and less attractive...
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 142





	A World For Two

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: There is trans! human Connor breeding kink in this. Connor wants to have Hank's babies, ok? If that's dysphoria inducing or just not your thing, back away now or forever hold your peace. 
> 
> Hank also drinks in this. It's not stated that he's an alcoholic, but he drinks to inebriation and he drinks often (like he does in the game) so it can be implied. 
> 
> There's some violence in the start, specifically wolves attacking Connor, and some animal death (Hank kills a wolf and later skins a deer).
> 
> The sex scene is a little rough and needy while still being loving, but if Hank clamping his hand over Connor's mouth to shut him up from babbling is a problem, be warned that it's there. Also be aware that Connor refers to his genitals as dick, slit, hole, there is one mention of chest binding, there's no HRT in this universe but Hank's affirming.
> 
> That's a lot of warnings for what is actually a really soft fic, but I'd be remiss not to mention triggers.
> 
> Also, this is @honkforhankcon's fault AGAIN for making me heart horny about soft HankCon baby AU stuff. I don't even like babies!

Connor didn't have to look behind him to know the wolves were closing in quickly. He could hear their panting breaths and their paws crunching the snow as they chased him through the bare forest. Connor slipped and fell, and the wolves were upon him in an instant, tearing at his clothes and flesh. He screamed and put his arm up as a shield, and the wolf took a bite out of his forearm while another tore at his ankle.

He was going to die here. He'd fled the village at the behest of his mother, Amanda, hoping to find the local woodcutter. Rumor had it that the man was an old knight who had left the King's court to retire. He would surely deliver a message to the castle and tell the King that Earl Kamski was perpetrating the plunder of villages in Count Reed's territory. The King would have to send peacekeeping troops before the situation escalated into full-scale war. The two brothers had always been at odds, but it was rare their skirmishes affected the civilian populace. It was clear that splitting their father's territory in two had not been enough to sate their bloodlust.

Now, there would be nobody to inform the King of his nobles' treacherous deeds. Ohio, the southern kingdom bordering Michigan, would probably be blamed for the slaughter, raising the prospect of war with a foreign nation. Perhaps that was what Kamski had wanted all along. The bloodthirsty noble seemed to care nothing for his people, subjecting them to high taxes, despite the plague that had swept through the kingdom, taking Connor's father with it.

An arrow whizzed past Connor's face and buried itself in the wolf's flank. The wolf about to go for his throat let go and howled in anguish. Warm blood spattered across Connor's face and he closed his eyes, waiting for his inevitable death. The creature died on top of him, pinning him under its dead weight as the other wolves scattered into the forest, fleeing for their lives. Strong arms pulled the dead animal off him, and he felt the warmth of a torch overhead. He opened his eyes to see the woodcutter looming over him, concerned blue eyes piercing into Connor's soul.

"That's a nasty wound. What are you doin' all the way up here, kid?" The woodcutter slung the crossbow he was carrying onto his back as he knelt down to examine Connor's wounds.

"I—I was told to find the woodcutter. That you were once a knight and you could deliver a message to the King—"

"Slow down, boy." The woodcutter sighed. "Let's get you back to my hut and clean up your wounds. We can talk later. I saw the smoke, and I know the gist of it, regardless." He grabbed Connor's good arm and hauled him to his feet with surprising strength. Connor leaned on the big man, grateful for his support as the adrenaline wore off and pain set in. His entire body ached, and his clothing was ripped in several places, letting the biting wind whistle against his bare skin. His wounds stung like they had salt in them and he gritted his teeth against the tears that welled up in his eyes, lest they freeze on his cheeks.

"Almost there," the woodcutter soothed. "What's your name, son?"

"Connor Stern. My mother—well, adoptive mother—was—"

"Amanda. I know her." Connor looked up at the woodcutter's face, but his stoic expression was unreadable. He was in too much pain to speak now, the cold air making breathing as agonizing as his wounds. His leg ached, and he didn't have to look down to know it was as bad as his arm. His pant leg was sticking to his ankle, his warm lifeblood oozing out of him. He felt weak at the thought.

"Don't you go passin' out on me now," Hank warned. "It's not much further." Connor looked up and saw the shadow of a small cabin in the clearing. The moon's light shone down, guiding them to the front door. Hank doused the torch in the snow, pushed the door open and hauled Connor inside, closing it with his boot to keep the elements out. Connor felt his strength slipping and he lost consciousness for a moment. Strong arms caught him as he fell, and the last thing he heard was the woodcutter grumbling to himself.

***

Connor woke in a warm bed. A fire kept the room cozy, and he struggled to pull himself up on one arm and assess his surroundings. The woodcutter dozed in an old armchair in one corner of the room, and a candle on the bedside table was burnt down to the wick, smoking as the flame touched the wax forming at its base. Sewing supplies, along with a bottle of alcohol, sat on the table alongside it. Connor looked down at his arm and saw his wound had been stitched up. Curtains were drawn across the window, but he could tell it wasn't yet light.

The woodcutter stirred. "Good. You're awake."

"I would have died if not for you. You saved my life. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I can't promise the wound won't get infected. Wolf bites are filthy things." The woodcutter sighed. "I'm Hank, by the way. Hank Anderson."

"Mother said you used to be a knight in the King's army. Is that true?"

"Long ago." Hank's eyes darkened. "That was another life. I'm nothin' but a humble woodcutter now." He leaned forward in his chair, his homemade cotton shirt stretching against his belly. His pants were just as tight, rough wolf hide that clung in all the right places. Connor looked away as soon as he realized he was staring, a flush creeping up his cheeks. This wasn't the time for such thoughts. His entire family was gone. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut against the pain of remembered horror.

"Earl Kamski's knights came to town. They set fire to all the houses and murdered the civilians."

"Fuck…" Hank sighed. "I knew tensions were high, but I never thought the fucker would actually go ahead and do it…" He clammed up for a moment, and Connor could tell he was doing battle with his emotions. "I take it you're the only survivor?"

"As far as I know. Mother told me to run and seek you out. That you could get a message to the King before Ohio is blamed for the slaughter."

Hank laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "Sorry, kid. There's no way I'm goin' back to the capital."

"You used to be a knight!" Connor protested.

"Used to be. That life is behind me now." Hank swiped the bottle of alcohol from the table and pulled out the cork, taking a gulp. "Why do you think I'm out here, in the middle of fuckin' nowhere, Connor? The nobility are dead to me, and I to them. I'd sooner die than set foot in Detroit again."

"My mother died in front of me. Her dying words beseeched me to ask for your help!" Connor threw the blankets aside and attempted to get up out fo bed. If the woodcutter wouldn't help, he would have to make the journey himself. It was a long and perilous trek, and he had no coin to speak of, but he'd find a way.

"Hey, hey, you're not ready to be up and about yet." Hank got up from his chair and strode across the room. Connor stood up anyway, and instantly fell. Hank caught him before he could injure himself, and sat him back down on the side of the bed.

"Someone has to tell the King what's happened here. If you won't do it, I will," Connor snapped.

"If you leave here, you will die." Hank sighed. "This is gonna be hard to hear, but the King doesn't give a shit about what's goin' on out here. The court is wrapped up in its own politics, and the King is just a puppet, manipulated by his advisors. That's why this brotherly squabble has been allowed to progress this far."

Connor sagged. "What am I supposed to do? Are you telling me to forget about my friends and family?"

"I'm tellin' you that your mother knew I'd keep you away from the capital for your own good, and I intend to do just that. I don't care if you heal up and move along to the next town, or if you decide to stay here with me and help out, but only death awaits you in Detroit. Us common folk mean nothin' to them."

"You want me to stay here?" Connor asked.

"Wouldn't mind the company. Gets lonely up here on the mountain." Hank patted Connor gently on his good shoulder. "That's up to you, though." He smiled, like there was something else he knew, but he said no more. He tucked Connor back into bed and left, and soon after Connor fell into a deep sleep.

***

"Would ya help me a minute here, Connor?" It was two weeks before Connor was able to be up and around, and Hank had warned him that his limp might be permanent. He'd started to walk to the cliff edge near Hank's cabin and look down upon the smoldering ruins of his village, but Hank said nothing about it when he returned home before dusk each night.

It was a lot to consider forgetting his past, but Hank made him want to stay. The woodcutter was never short of things to talk about, though at times he seemed to retreat into a dark, brooding mood. Connor learned quickly that it was best to leave him alone when the dark clouds gathered. There were a few child's things in his room, but Connor never asked about them.

Connor headed outside and saw a deer that Hank had caught and dragged home lying in the snow in front of the cabin. Hank dropped to his knees and pulled out a skinning knife. He carved into the deer's skin as Connor watched, transfixed by Hank's hands as he worked to skin the animal. Hank's pants hugged his ass as he leaned forward, and Connor was embarrassed to admit he was becoming aroused, his little dick erect, his pussy wet and wanting. It had been too long since he'd been with anyone. He was almost thirty and the entire village had seen him as a mother's boy, still unmarried and living at home. Did Hank see him that way? Did he look at Connor and think of him as a son?

Hank's hands were bloody by the time he was done. "The meat has to hang in the shed," he explained. "The skin will make clothes for you. Those tattered rags aren't fit to be used. I repaired them best I could, but you deserve better."

"I deserve nothing," Connor said. "I live on your charity. I've been thinking lately that I should move on. Maybe I could make a living in one of the larger towns."

"What would you do, Connor? The world is a cruel place for a young commoner without a trade." Hank narrowed his eyes.

"People once told me I made for a pretty boy. I could sell my body. I hear there's such a market, and at least it would be an honest living."

"You think living with me is dishonest?" Hank grunted. "Maybe it is. I've done everything in my power to keep you here, because the thought of being alone again frightens me. I can see now that you'd rather be elsewhere. I thought—" He cut himself off. "Never mind." He dragged the deer away, and Connor realized it would be futile to follow. He'd hurt Hank, and it was a wound not easily healed.

He didn't want to leave, not really, but his thoughts about the old man scared him. Hank would surely be disgusted to know that Connor wanted to touch himself imagining Hank plowing his huge cock into him. That he woke from sweaty dreams in which Hank knocked him up while he whined and pleaded for more. Connor wanted to stay, but he couldn't. It was better to leave on his own terms than see the look of horror in Hank's eyes when the boy he'd treated like a son confessed to his carnal desires.

He didn't see Hank for the rest of the night, and he was both worried and relieved when the door slammed in the middle of the night, Hank singing a drunken, out-of-key tune to himself. He went into his room and slammed the door, and Connor couldn't be sure if the muffled grunts he heard were sobbing or self-pleasure.

He touched himself to them anyway, ashamed as he arched his back and came at the thought of Hank coming into his room and fucking him into the mattress.

***

They were distant for a week after that. Connor wanted desperately to break the stalemate, but silence lingered between them, and Connor realized he would have to leave. He was only making Hank hurt more, and he wondered what might happen when he ran out of his supply of alcohol. The next village was a day's walk away, and there was no guarantee it was still standing. Connor often saw soldiers marching through the ruins of his village when he gazed off the cliff, and wondered if the skirmish had become a full-blown conflict. 

It no longer seemed to matter, and he felt guilty about that fact. The world had become much smaller, consisting of only Hank and himself, and the thought of leaving this sanctuary and heading into a war-torn land held little appeal now.

One evening, as it was starting to snow, he headed outside where Hank was sitting on the front stoop, drinking the last of his liquor. Snowflakes settled on Hank's hair, but he paid them no mind.

"I had a son," Hank started, and Connor knew he was in the mood to talk, even if he got the feeling he wasn't going to like what Hank had to say. "His name was Cole."

Connor nodded, standing beside Hank. Connor was getting cold quickly. Hank seemed not to feel it, and Connor wondered if it was the alcohol or his hardy nature. He hugged himself to keep warm, wanting to hear Hank out.

"He's gone, isn't he?" Connor asked.

"It was the plague. Swept through Detroit that winter, took all but the toughest commoners. The nobles had access to a medicine that could cure it. I had served the King all my life, ready to give my life for him, but when I begged for medicine for my son, he refused. Said the lives of commoners were expendable. I realized then that my years of service—my entire life—meant nothing to him. I was nothing but a commoner, no matter how many years I spent at court, no matter how much blood I spilled for my liege. Cole died, and I left my sword in his grave and swore my life would be nobody else's but my own from that point onward. Came out here to—I dunno. To forget, I guess. Cut myself off from the world. I'm a deserter. I would surely hang if I went back to the city, but that's not what keeps me at bay. It's the whole damn system, the nobles sittin' high and pretty while people die to serve their whims."

Connor wanted to say something, but Hank wasn't a man for apologies or platitudes, so he kept his silence.

"I realized I'm not much better though, Connor. I could have helped your village fight back. Could have trained your folks in swordsmanship and given them half a chance against Kamski's men. I knew what was comin', but I chose not to see it. I turned my back on all of you because I was so desperate not to deal with nobles and their bullshit again. I'm no better than the King I deserted. I let your mother and everyone else in that village die. I deserve to spend the rest of my years alone."

"It's not your fault, Hank," Connor whispered. "I doubt we could have stood up to armored knights on horseback, no matter how much training you gave us."

"It still haunts me. I should have done somethin'."

The snow grew heavier, thick flakes settling on them both.

"May I ask you a personal question?" Connor inquired.

"Sure." Hank sighed, taking another swig from the bottle.

"What am I to you? A son? A friend? Or simply a stranger, here to help you with your daily tasks?"

Hank put the empty bottle down on the ground, delaying his answer while he tinkered with it. It fell over into the snow, and he waved dismissively.

"What do you want to be, Connor?" Hank looked at him, his eyes boring deep into Connor's soul.

"Whatever you want me to be," Connor replied. 

"Now you're just deflecting." Hank looked down at his hands. "What are you afraid of?" He blew out a long breath, and it turned to vapor in the crisp night air.

"That you might think of me as your son," Connor confessed. "I've been having thoughts that are… impure about you."

Hank chuckled, his tone low and husky. "I know. You gasp beautifully when you touch yourself. I've seen the way you look at me. I want nothing more than to give you everything you desire, Connor, but…" He shook his head. "I fear I've been keeping you here in hopes of cultivating something between us, and that's not right. You deserve more than to live in exile with an old man."

Connor shook his head. "I deserve—what? To live a short life as a prostitute in the city, dying of syphilis? Or to find myself embroiled in the war, cut down as just another nameless commoner? Or to die of the plague as it spreads through the land, my body buried in a potter's field with a thousand other nameless souls? Here, I am someone. You make me feel like I matter."

"You deserve the freedom to choose for yourself. You're not a tool, here to serve my needs. You're a grown man with hopes and dreams of his own. There must be things you want to do with your life, and you can't achieve them here."

"Do you know what I think of when I close my eyes?" Connor asked.

"No. How could I?"

"I think about what it might feel like if you fucked me. I think about you breeding me, Hank, leaving your seed in me until I swell with your child." Connor flushed, his entire body on fire. He closed his eyes, embarrassed and ashamed. "I fear such a desire makes me less of a man."

"Not even slightly," Hank said. "I saw your bindings when I stripped you to clean your wounds. I've traveled the world, and I know how things work. I promise you you're no less of a man to me because of it." He reached out and grasped Connor's hand, pulling him closer. "You really wanna stay out here with me and start a family?"

"Yes," Connor whispered. He straddled Hank's lap, sitting down face-to-face and leaning in for a kiss. Hank consumed his lips in a hungry, passionate caress as Connor ground his crotch against Hank's fully-clothed erection.

Hank stood up, lifting Connor with him as if he weighed nothing. Connor wrapped his legs around Hank's waist and continued to rut against him as Hank carried him into the house, chuckling as he staggered into his bedroom and lay Connor down on the bed. Connor gasped as Hank lay his full weight on top of him, pinning him down while he delivered more kisses to Connor's mouth, chin, and throat. Connor threw his head back, gasping as Hank reached between them and untied the laces keeping Connor's pants up. He slipped a thick finger into Connor's slit, teasing his erect dick and spreading his wetness over it.

"Hank, oh, please…" Connor pleaded, a breathless mess of need. Hank grinned and knelt on the bed, pulling Connor's pants off him with enough force that the carefully mended stitches tore. He plunged his face into Connor's pussy, lapping and sucking at Connor's slit while swirling his tongue around Connor's dick. Connor buried his fingers in Hank's hair, screaming as Hank drew his orgasm out of him.

Hank grinned as he sat up and looked into Connor's eyes, his facial hair glistening with Connor's wetness. "That feel good, Connor?"

"Fuck me, Hank. Please." Connor reached for Hank's laces, desperate to get his hands on Hank's cock. It tumbled out, thick and hard, heavy balls hanging low. Connor gave it a few strokes, admiring the length and fullness of it as he cupped Hank's balls with his other hand. Veins stood out along his shaft, and Connor wanted nothing more than to take Hank's cock in his mouth and taste it.

But he wasn't going to waste Hank's precious seed. He'd made up his mind, and he wanted Hank to impregnate him before either of them had second thoughts about the whole thing. Out here, it would be hard to get medical attention. The risks of having Hank's babies were many, but Connor knew in his heart of hearts he'd been made for this, born as a man into this body to give Hank a second chance at being a father. He couldn't imagine doing this for anyone else but Hank, and all thoughts of ever leaving fled as he realized he'd found his home.

Hank must have seen a flicker of fear in Connor's eyes, because he kissed his neck before whispering into his ear. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Connor hissed. "Please, Hank. Come in me."

Hank pushed Connor's legs back. His dick was so hard he was able to angle it at Connor's hole and press inside without guiding it, slowly pushing down until he was fully sheathed inside Connor. Connor gasped at the stretch of Hank's cock, the massive shaft opening him up. He loved how Hank rutted into him with animalistic grunts, mating with him like they were two animals going at it for no other purpose than breeding. The smile playing across his lips countered the intensity of his eyes, and Connor felt like he was the center of Hank's universe as Hank thrust into him hard and fast.

Connor clutched the sheets, threatening to tear them. "Knock me up, Hank," he babbled. "Put a baby inside me." Hank covered his mouth with his thick hand and Connor grinned underneath, his head pinned down and voice silenced as Hank grunted hard. With a deep thrust, he came, his deep voice tight and high as he emptied his load deep inside Connor. Connor came, his contractions squeezing every last drop out of Hank's cock until he slipped out.

"Holy shit," Hank said, fingering his semen back into Connor's hole. He lay down beside Connor, pulling him close. He kissed the top of Connor's head before rolling onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling.

"Are you all right, Hank?" Connor asked.

"Yeah," Hank said. "Just thinking about a few years back. Your mother came here to buy some firewood, see. She told me about her son—how lonely he was, how much she wanted to see him happy. I'm startin' to think she had no intention of sending a message to the castle, Connor. She probably knew as well as I do that the nobles wouldn't give a damn. She just wanted you to be happy. She sent you here knowing I'd take good care of you."

Connor clenched his eyelids shut, trying to hide his tears. It was too much to think that his mother had wanted all this. It still hurt to think of her—gone forever, now.

"It's okay," Hank whispered. "You can cry. Let it all out, Connor." Connor opened his eyes and let his tears fall, the first ones he'd allowed himself to cry since that fateful night. His put his hand over his belly, hoping Hank's seed quickened there, that they might start a new life in this place that had seen so much death and despair.

"I love you, Hank," Connor whispered.

"I love you too, Connor," Hank replied. "It's gonna be all right, now. We're not alone any more." He pulled the blankets up over them both and soon Connor found himself dragged into a peaceful slumber, a sense of bliss settling over him as he curled deeper into Hank's embrace...

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, feel free to leave a comment or hit me up on Twitter @landale!


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